Stranger to The Creed
by SylphinesBane
Summary: When Connor finds a half Native like himself, he strives to help her, finding more in her than just a shared parentage. Rated T for the last chapter which is full of lemon.
1. Chapter 1

Stranger to The Creed

I do not own any of these characters except the woman I created for this, Ubisoft owns everyone else and the locations.

On the boundary of sleep and wakefulness, the light patter of rain dragged Connor from a much needed slumber. His eyes encrusted with less than a full night's rest, he tried to hold closed as the hazy morning fought to open them. His stirrings drew the attention of a cool cloth to his bare chest and whispered utterances to try and go back to sleep. He dragged his arm from under the warmth and into the chilly atmosphere of the bedroom and clasped the hand pressing the cloth to his chest.

"Ratonhnhake:ton, sleep…" She always called him by his real name, the only person to still do so. The way she spoke his name, her voice tilting with the foreign pronunciation, began to ease him back into a peaceful and doctor-ordered rest. As the bed began to cocoon around him once again, the hushed click of the door opening and whispered conversation that followed prevented him from fully tumbling into sleep once more. Someone approached the bed and sat upon its edge. The bed protested softly, the ropes supporting the mattress creaking against the added weight. The new occupant gently folded the blankets down to Connor's waist and began examining the heavy bruising that Connor's ribcage was hidden under. His sleep-addled brain immediately registered the prodding and he could not suppress the grumble of pain that vibrated in his chest.

"Sssshhhhh…." A hand enveloped the one he lifted to cease the examination and gave him a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"It's healing well. How has he been sleeping?" Connor recognized Dr. White's voice, the man's whose home he had collapsed outside of the night of his injury. He could not remember when that was, the pain from what Dr. White had called a bone bruise, had exhausted him, stealing all sense of time.

A feminine voice responded truthfully; his sleep had been restless but his appetite voracious. Dr. White's muffled chuckle was somewhat lost on her, she had been away from her own people too long to understand that sometimes the truth held more humor than a lie. After clearing his throat of any further laughter, Dr. White traded more words with her about Connor's health and recovery ending with his usual to call him if he was needed. The doctor's receding footfalls across the bedroom floor, down the stairs and the shutting of the front door, finally drew Connor's attention to the silence of the room and the woman who continued to occupy it with him. He pried his eyes open and dragged his head across the pillow to catch a glimpse of her before sleep consumed him.

She stood tall and commanding, clad head to toe in buck skin. The wisps of her red hair, escaping the braids like miniature flames, brushing against her pale skin and dress was a sight to behold. It was as though she was a goddess on fire. Her arms were crossed under her breasts and she was glaring at the door as though she could will it burn right before her eyes. His stare caught her attention and her face softened. She released her arms and was at his side with a cold, damp cloth, trying to wipe the pain-induced sweat from his brow and chest. He allowed himself to smile, remembering this was similar to how he met her in the first place…


	2. Chapter 2

The wispy scraping of someone skinning echoed faintly in the small clearing of Myriam's camp as Connor purposely made enough noise that she would not be startled by his approach. As he parted the bushes and entered the forest enclosed space, he saw her stiffen as she heard him draw near. She paused, skinning knife moving slowly as her body began to turn in his direction. As the corner of her eye caught him, she quickly relaxed and greeted him before returning to her task.

"I am almost done Connor, I'm sorry to keep you waiting." Myriam stated as she stood and shook out the hide.

"Please, take your time, I am in no rush." He replied making himself comfortable on a log near her smoldering fire. He clasped his hands together and waited patiently as she finished cleaning the skin. Instinctively, he visually scanned the trees encircling the camp, when a strange cry seized his attention. He stood and grasped his tomahawk in one fluid motion. Myriam, frozen in mid-motion of hanging the hide on a line, had heard the disturbance as well. Making eye contact with each other briefly, Connor nodded to her as she reached for her rifle and followed him through the woods in the direction of the sound. Neither spoke as they weaved their way through the underbrush and neared one of the tributaries of the river that flowed near Myriam's hut. Connor's soft bird call to Myriam drew her notice and he indicated she head toward the water in the opposite direction of him. He watched her pick her way slowly over some rocks as she clung near the tree line in case she needed to remain undetected. As Connor momentarily watched her slink toward the water, the cry resonated again, but this time it sounded weaker, as though the source of it was traveling away from the water. Sensing an urgency to discover the sound, Connor jumped into the nearest tree and using the forest canopy as his personal walkway, kept a steady but purposeful pace toward the water's edge. Where land and river met, a form was lying on the ground. As Connor scrambled down the tree, the trail of blood polluting the water forced him to jump the last few feet to the ground. As he rolled to ease the fall, he sprinted to the body just as Myriam trudged through the woods and began to run to his side. He knelt next the person, instantly seeing that it was a Native woman; wait no, a white woman dressed like a Native. Shoving his confusion aside, he watched as Myriam tried to find where the blood was escaping from the woman and it appeared to be somewhere on one of her legs. She was unconscious, but cried out feebly when Myriam tried to turn one of her legs to inspect the wound.

"We must bring her to Dr. White. I will carry her, you run ahead I will meet you there." Connor stated as he began to lift the wounded woman into his arms. Nodding, Myriam sprinted off, holding her rifle against her back. As she vanished from sight, Connor did his best to keep from jostling the woman too much. He studied her as he hiked back the way he had come and toward Dr. White's home. She was most definitely a white woman; no Native had hair the color of the sunset, but her clothing puzzled Connor the most. She was clothed in unadorned buckskin, save for the feathers in her braids and the fringe at her hem and shoes. As her pondered how she came to be where he had found her and why she was wearing such clothing, she stirred in his arms. Not ceasing his stride he observed her face as she fought with consciousness. As her eye lids fluttered and her brow furrowed, her lips parted in a gasp of pain, which brought her back into the waking world. Her unfocused eyes spoke her story more than any word ever could; she had the eyes of a Native, dark and understanding. Connor almost paused when her eyes began to search his face. Tears began to flood her face, unsure if it could be from her injury, his mental question was immediately answered when she spoke,

"Mukki…." She moaned before passing out again. He did not know what she said but he recognized the sound of a Native language, which shocked him even more. Who was this woman? Like him she appeared to have a mixed background, but she appeared more European than he ever would. As he pondered this, he realized he was nearing Dr. White's home. He quickened his stride and was greeted by the doctor, Diana, and Myriam as he approached the door.

"Myriam told me she is bleeding, bring her upstairs quickly." Dr. White ushered Connor into the home and up the stairway into a room that had been set up to treat patients. As Connor delicately eased her onto a table, Diana swiftly guided him out of the room and closed the door in his face. He stood there for a few moments, his curiosity holding him fast to the floor in front of the door. The sound of Myriam's boots on the floor downstairs broke his concentration. He descended the stairs and met the woman's worried expression.

"I will stay here and wait." He stated to her concerned glance. She nodded and said she would hunt for the rest of the pelts Ellen had requested by herself then. As Myriam turned to go she added that she wanted to Connor to let her know how the woman was when Dr. White was done. He assured her that he would and the two parted ways. As Myriam exited the home, Connor found himself staring up at the closed door and pondering again about the strange woman. How had she come to the homestead wounded as she was? Had someone hunted her? He felt almost protective of her and could not even begin to bring himself to leave the doctor's home. No not protective, a kinship. Although she was not Kanien'keha:ka, it was extremely obvious that she shared a mixed heritage like him and he had questions that he needed answered.


	3. Chapter 3

"Connor?" He had been pacing Dr. White's home and studying various books and paintings that were arranged around one of the rooms. Some time had passed since he had brought the Native woman into the doctor's home, shadows had begun to lengthen, but there was still enough light to see by. He faced Dr. White who was wiping his hands on a bloodied cloth. Connor returned the novel he had been flipping through to its place and faced the other man.

"Does she live?" Connor asked watching Dr. White mop the red stains from his hands.

"Yes…she is sleeping." He sounded as though he needed rest himself.

"Will she live?" Connor rephrased his question, taking the cue from the doctor's exhausted tone and the life splatter on his hands.

"She will live, but I fear she will need time to recover. Connor, she was with child and lost the baby. It does not appear that she was far along in her pregnancy." Dr. White sighed heavily, saddened by the woman's loss.

"When may I see her?" Connor prodded, he felt for the woman but he needed to know where she came from and who she was, perhaps he could find her people and let them know she was alive.

"I do not want her disturbed for now. She is becoming feverish, I have no idea how long she was lying on the ground before you found her. I will let you know when anyone can see her."

"Thank you doctor." Connor gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder and made his way back to the main house. He felt torn; he desperately wanted to help the woman and his impatience would not let him wait for her to be well enough for him to speak with her. He felt angry, that this woman was of two worlds and not fully welcome in either of them. He knew from experience, although he had looked enough like his mother to be accepted with his people, he did not belong with his father's. He did not want to belong with his father's and was happy he never would. To be associated with those who raped the land and took what was not theirs, was a shame he did not want to ever acknowledge. He did not realize the force of his anger until he slammed the front door closed and the soft tap of Achilles' cane as he came to see the commotion.

"Connor, is there really a need to be so rough on the door?" The old man asked as Connor stormed past him to the basement.

"You would not understand…" He growled through his clenched teeth, pulling the candle holder on the wall and opening the door to the lowest level of the home. He continued to abuse inanimate objects, stomping on the stairs and then approaching the dummy in the middle of the floor and punching it so hard its head was knocked into the far wall.

"Well the dummy apparently doesn't understand either…" Achilles chuckled slowly making his way down to Connor. The gentle drumming of his cane relaxing Connor somewhat.

"I am sorry Achilles…" He turned to his mentor, knowing he needed to explain himself.

"Don't apologize for your anger boy, it can give you purpose and motivation, just don't let it control you." He limped over to where the dummy head had landed and knocked it toward Connor, who picked it up and surveyed the damage he had caused.

"I found a wounded woman earlier today, she was dressed like one of my people but when she spoke I did not know the word. She was… white." Connor had been trying to reattach the head to the rest of dummy with no success. With no patience left, he set the head on the floor and looked to Achilles for answers.

"White you say? Ah, I see, you think she might be half, like you. Did you think you were the only one?" Achilles seemed slightly amused at Connor; perhaps for thinking his uniqueness was solitary. He walked to where Connor was standing; who had turned away, embarrassed that Achilles was right.

"It does not matter." Connor spat, frustrated how well Achilles did know him sometimes.

"It matters to you. She is with that doctor correct? Then wait until she is well enough to talk to you. Patience Connor." Achilles replied his tone softer.

"What if her people are looking for her? I should seek them out."

"And what If they were the ones who left her for dead? What will you do then? Start a war over a stranger?" Achilles prodded Connor with his walking stick. When he didn't answer, Achilles gave him one last piece of advice,

"Don't get yourself killed. You want to help her, that's fine, but think first." With his last statement, he hobbled out of the basement leaving Connor alone with his thoughts. His impulsiveness was getting the best of him and with a glance to the ominous paintings littering the wall near the weapon room; he sprinted up the steps and out the back door of the home.

As night began to make itself comfortable, Connor found himself at the pebbled-edge of the river where he and Myriam had found the woman earlier in the day. Any animal that had come to investigate the bloodied soil was either long gone or lurking in the coming darkness, waiting for Connor to leave. He knelt and studied the ground, trying to predict how the woman had come to be there. His vision caught red movement to his right and he dodged as an arrow embedded itself in the riverbed where he had been kneeling. The assailant tried to scurry off into the night, thinking the shadows would swathe them in safety. Connor trudged his way across the river and free ran onto the nearest tree and pursued his attacker. Confidence was the origin of the person's stupidity; thinking they had lost Connor, they slowed their pace and eventually stopped to rest on a log. Their labored breathing could be heard easily from the treetops where Connor stealthily balanced and crouched. He scrutinized the person from behind the tree truck, whose branch he was poised upon. It was a man, he appeared young, but Connor's vision didn't provide specific details from that far of a distance. The night did not remain unblemished; each sound startled the man and eventually he gathered himself and began to retreat further into the woods away from the homestead. The man did not get far; Connor leapt from his hiding spot, his coat fluttering in the descent. Connor skewered the man to the ground, the force of the collision spraying dried twigs and leaves around the two men in miniature tornadoes. Momentarily dazed, the young man did nothing and the blade held to his throat convinced him to continue to do nothing.

"Who are you?" Connor snarled, emphasizing his words with a flick of his wrist, releasing his other blade against the man's cheek.

"I am no one!" He replied, the youthful timbre in his voice betraying his age and fear. The thick Native accent was clear, but he spoke English well.

"So, no one shot an arrow at me?" Connor hissed grinding his knee into the adolescence's bicep. The boy struggled to stifle a whimper, failing in the attempt.

"Please yield!"

"Answer me and I will." The frantic nodding of the youth was enough to convince Connor to release him, but he held fast to his arm to prevent him from fleeing into the darkness.

"I am called Tihkoosue…I am seeking someone." The trembling in his voice indicated he needed someone to guide him to answer.

"Who?" Connor growled as he employed his grip as a tightening vise on Tihkoosue's arm.

"A woman…I am to bring her…home." His words were hesitant and Connor did not believe him.

"So bringing her home requires you to fire arrows?" The boy did not answer; instead he bent his head away in shame.

"Leave and do not return here. If you require force just to being someone home, they are better off far away. Go!" Connor propelled the boy away and further made his point by drawing his gun and cocking it to fire. The boy scrambled away, panic fueling his already accelerated, gangly run. Connor waited until the raucous of his escape could no longer be heard. Isolated with his thoughts, again, Connor felt he would get no answers until the woman was well enough to give them to him.


	4. Chapter 4

Connor imposed quarantine on himself, avoiding Dr. White's home, forcing himself to have patience. It was difficult; he craved action and waiting only made him more anxious. Honing his skills only kept him occupied for so long and assisting the homesteaders only fed his impulsiveness. As he paced through the home, Achilles slammed the butt of his walking stick onto the floor and dragged himself from behind the ledger. Connor loitered by the stairway as Achilles limped in his direction.

"Connor, had I known your impatience would try my own, I would not have told you to have any." He grumbled.

"Achilles, I went to where I discovered the woman and I was attacked. I must speak with her."

"Then go boy, harass the poor doctor instead of me and what little I have left of my sanity." He hobbled back to his desk as Connor flew out of the door. He sighed and winced as the door slammed shut.

Connor glanced in the direction of the small barn, hastily pondering and then rejecting riding a horse to Dr. White's. He remembered the advice of Achilles; to have patience. Inhaling deeply, he allowed the expectant horses full view of his back and briskly walked down the dirt path to the doctor's home.

"Connor, what brings you here? Are you well?" Dr. White sounded surprised to see the half-Native and somewhat concerned.

"I am well Dr. White. I am here to inquire about the woman in your care." Dr. White opened the door further to allow Connor to come inside. Connor was so absorbed on glancing around the inside of the home and listening for anything out of the ordinary that he did not realize for a few moments that Dr. White was studying him intently.

"You don't look well…you look exhausted." The doctor gently took hold of Connor's elbow and guided him to a chair. Connor reluctantly and impatiently allowed the doctor to sit him down. The older man left and almost immediately returned with a glass of water. As Connor took the glass from him and began to drink, Dr. White pulled a chair next to him and observed him.

"Dr. White-" He began but was quickly interrupted.

"Connor, have you been having some trouble sleeping?" His impatience was getting the better of him and he shoved the empty glass into Dr. White's hand and stood.

"I have been…thinking about woman, I am well. I am here to speak with her, that is, if she is well enough to see me." Dr. White nodded and stood.

"Very well, but she only just woke this morning. Do not upset her more than she already is Connor." After placing the glass on a nearby table, Dr. White led Connor upstairs. Connor recognized the door to the sick room, having passed through it a few times since the doctor had made the homestead a permanent residence. Cracking the door slightly, Dr. White glanced inside before opening it all the way and shutting it quietly after he and Connor had entered the room. Diana was sitting in a chair next to the bed; she looked up at the two men and smiled. Dr. White approached her and spoke to her in a muted tone. Her eyes met Connor's several times and she reluctantly vacated the seat and stood guard over the bed from behind the chair. She crossed her arms under her breasts and wore a stern mask on her usually pleasant and friendly face. Dr. White leaned over the bed and peered into the mound of blankets, he whispered a few words before beckoning Connor over. He cautiously made his way through the gauntlet of Diana's hard stares and Dr. White's doubting look. As he settled into the chair he was slightly started by the tear-filled eyes that met his own. Her red-rimmed eyes swam in pools of grief as she clutched the blankets in her white-knuckled hands. The fires of her hair had been doused by the fevered sweat that gave her tear-drenched face an unhealthy flush.

"Ratonhnhake:ton." He stated softly pointing at himself. He had no hesitation giving the woman his real name; he did not need to hide who he was from her.

"Wutahshuntar…" She whispered releasing a crumpled ball of anguished-soaked blanket from her hand and pointing at herself. She seemed to relax somewhat when their names were exchanged.

"Can you speak Kanien'keha or English?" He questioned bending closer to her. Her voice was so soft; it was as though she only wanted him to hear her words.

"English…a little." She held up her index finger and thumb making a small space between them. Connor nodded once and sighed unsure what to ask next.

"Your people?" His words instantly drew tears as though he had pierced her with a knife. She defied the pain and answered, her voice cracking like twigs in a fire,

"People…helped but husband wants death." She swallowed hard, suffocating her obvious pain with a stronger will. Her words surprised him; if he understood her fractured English correctly it made sense then that the boy had tried to attack him at the river where this woman was found, but for what purpose could her death fulfill?

"Why…?" Connor inquired, fearful that Dr. White would pull him away before he received any answers. The tears that had been welling in the puddles of her eyes, spilled over drawing lines of ill-remembered memories down her puffy cheeks.

"Mukki.." She coughed the word out, tightening herself into a sobbing ball. She clenched the pillows to the sides of her head, blockading her ears against any further questions. The blankets enveloped her into a sound-proof embrace, as she howled into the cushions, her body wracked with tremors of torment. As he reached toward the trembling heap the woman had buried herself under, he allowed Dr. White to pull him out of the chair and push him into the wall. He was so shocked by the woman's response that he stood frozen as he watched Diana and the doctor comfort her.

"Connor, you should go."


	5. Chapter 5

Feeling as though he caused more damage to one person than the diverse methods he employed on assassination missions; Connor gave Dr. White's home a wide berth for several weeks. He had spotted the woman's visage flickering between the thick foliage of the homestead on several occasions, but he had never approached her; only watched to see how she was adjusting. She never made eye contact and walked with her head bent as though a great weight was strapped to her neck. Her steps were sluggish and with no purpose; as though her destination was no better than her origin. When someone would stop to exchange words with her, she would barely acknowledge the speaker; her head bobbing the only response she relayed. Dr. White was almost always at her side, the proverbial protective father.

"So this is what you have been doing with your skills? Following women?" Connor had heard Achilles' approach knowing the verbal lashing was something he could not avoid.

"I fear that I might have offended her, I am merely trying to rectify myself old man." Connor stated not taking his eyes off of Dr. White and his reluctant companion.

"By stalking her." The elder man replied, humor in his age-caked voice.

"By observing and trying to discover if there is an easy way to approach her." Connor retorted, spinning on his heels to glare at his mentor.

"Connor, she isn't a target, she is a woman."

"A woman raised by a tribe that I am not sure I am familiar with. I must be wary that I do not offend her a second time." He answered quickly, turning back around as he finished speaking realizing the two of them had gone beyond his vision. Frustrated he stood quickly, but was stopped by Achilles who had grabbed his arm.

"Be careful." Connor gave pause to Achilles' words. He had never told him to be careful or betrayed any emotion of concern. He nodded briefly before starting off in the direction Dr. White and the woman had wandered to. They had not gone far, their gait was slow and almost forced.

"Dr. White…." Connor called out at he approached. He kept a conservative distance to not alarm the woman who gazed at Connor sideways from beneath her bent head. Dr. White smiled as he greeted Connor, spouting the usual pleasantries before becoming more personal. The woman, for the moment was ignored, until Connor reached out to her with words.

"Are you well?" She shied away from him and from Dr. White who reached out to her to join their conversation. Connor looked to the doctor when she didn't answer, but she opened her mouth when Dr. White tried to speak for her.

"I have words." She said, anger lingering at the edge of her voice. She moved toward Connor and stood in front of him. She met his eyes and then relaxed slightly as she began to study his clothes. She fingered the buttons of his coat and a smile touched her face when she delicately ran her hand over the wampum tied to his biceps.

"Ratonhnhake:ton, I…am well." Her English sounded more confident but he could see the fear of her outburst in her eyes. She backed away from him after speaking and turned to continue her heavy-hearted stroll. Dr. White watched her walk off before facing Connor.

"She has recovered physically, but emotionally…" He shook his head and then quickly dismissed the sad visage as Connor walked past him to catch up to Wutahshuntar. Hearing someone behind her, she stopped and slowly turned, and surprise lit up her face when it was not who she expected.

"Ratonhnhake:ton, why do you follow? You…are not my people." She sounded confused as he drew closer to her.

"I found you wounded at the river-" He began before she stomped up to him and met his eyes. He stood his ground as her eyes pierced his own. Her demeanor softened slightly as she continued to study his face.

"My people and yours, we are not friends." She whispered. He nodded, knowing several Algonquin tribes and the Kanien'keha:ka were indeed not allies.

"Do we not share a common bond, that of the land? Do we also not share a common parentage?" His lands words clearly upset her, for she retreated several steps and averted her gaze.

"You…wound me…"

"I meant no offense…" He held his hands up in surrender and waited patiently to see if she would respond. She took a heavy breath and met his eyes again.

"My mother a white woman. When she died, noshi, um father, came for me and took me to live with his people." After her explanation she gave him an expectant stare; she wanted him to elaborate on his history as well.

"My father is British, my mother was Kanien'keha:ka. I was raised with her people." She was quick to jump on the end of his words with her own.

"And now? Your dress is odd and you live here? And the doctor…he named you Connor?" She was becoming bolder in her questioning. She reached for his clothing and plucked at his belt and the symbol that sat in the center. Her voice also carried an accusing tone, as though she was angry he was not among his own people.

"I am here on behalf of my people, to seek freedom and justice for them. The way to do that is to alter my outer appearance and my name, I am still Kanien'keha:ka on the inside, that will never change." He preached, raising his voice to her. She was silent after his outburst, almost ashamed that she might have wrongly blamed him for abandoning his history. With a quivering hand, she lightly touched her temple. What Connor had mistaken for a shamed silence, was a sign of ill health. He was at her side quickly with Dr. White in tow as she bent backwards like a branch in the wind into Connor's arms. As Connor knelt into her collapse, he maneuvered his arm to lift her bowed head as Dr. White felt for the life in her neck. Her eye lids trembled as she fought to stay conscious. She moaned softly as Connor stood, cradling her in his concerned embrace. He felt her body wilt and watched helplessly as her head lolled against his chest as she lost her battle with consciousness.

"To my home Connor, quickly." Dr. White hissed in a commanding tone as his hurried steps kicked up dust from the dirt path they were on. As the two men kept a rapid pace to their destination, Connor lagged slightly behind, striving to keep his gait steady to not upset the delicate cargo in his arms. Dr. White paused several times to study her limp form, but she continued to give no response. Connor felt the urge to quicken his steps and as they neared the doctor's home the young woman in his arms began to stir.

"Doctor…" He called out, pulling the other man to his side.

"We must get her inside and into a bed." As he spun away from Connor, the woman suddenly woke and shrieked. She squirmed in Connor's arms, struggling to free herself. She pounded at his chest with her balled fists and continued to wail, screaming in terror.

"Stop please…" He pleaded with her, trying to grasp her flailing arms. As her legs kicked into the air, Dr. White recoiled from the battle and watched with a mix of dismay and concern. Connor refused to release her, even as her struggle began to become more frenzied and panic-filled. Her face was aflame; reddened by tears and the tresses of blazing hair clinging to it, Connor held fiercely to her, waiting for this tide of violence to exhaust her. She continued her seizure of fear until she began to strain for breath.

"Relax…" Connor whispered as the air became laden with her exasperated gasps. He knelt on the ground causing Dr. White to rush to his side. Her body heaved as she wheezed for air. Her head drooped backwards, exposing her neck as her eyes darted around in confusion. Connor repeated his calming tone to her as she clamped her eyes against a new flood of tears. The droplets from her eyes danced on the ground like a tender rain caressing the parched earth. As the thirsty soil drank her sorrow, she moaned and burrowed her face in Connor's chest. Unsure of himself, he simply stared at her as she clung to him, her body wracked with sniffling sobs.

"Bring her inside, Connor." Dr. White murmured standing. The half Native gave Dr. White a blank stare, so doubtful of what he should do. The doctor repeated his words, this time with a reassuring smile and extending his arm toward his home. Connor nodded and followed the doctor inside. The hushed latching of the door; broke the confused trance Connor had been momentarily locked within. He faced the doctor, nearly pinning him to the wall and spoke with conviction,

"I will stay with her." As he climbed the stairs to the room the woman had been occupying, he heard Dr. White reply, a hint of mirth in his voice,

"Very well…"


	6. Chapter 6

The next several days Connor spent much of his free time at Wutahshuntar's side, slowly building a trust and respect between them with his presence. She had been unwilling to speak for the first few days upon returning to Dr. White's home after the afternoon of her painful outburst.

"I am sorry, Ratonhnhake:ton…." She had whispered to his back, the first words she had uttered in days. He cautiously turned his head toward where she lay, staring at her from the corner of his eye. He paused, waiting to see if she would reveal anything to prompt her apology.

"You…I thought you were someone else." She had buried herself in the blankets she had been hiding underneath since he had brought her back to Dr. White's home.

"Someone that you had been afraid of, someone who had hurt you?" He prodded.

"Please, do not make me speak any more of this…" She whimpered , her voice shivering with unshed tears. He arrived at her bedside, digging through the blankets she cowered under for her hand.

"I will let no harm come to you again whether you choose to tell me or not." He found her hand and held it briefly, sealing his words. As he released her, she clawed her way out of the protective cocoon, her eyes peaking over the covers and stared at him.

"Why…?"

"Everyone deserves to be free, to not suffer under the yoke of another's whims." He stated, trying to keep the venom out of his voice.

"You fight?" She asked pushing the bedclothes away from her and sitting up in the bed. He nodded, flipping his hands over to stare at the blades at his wrists.

"All I do is fight." She leaned toward him and touched the blade on his left wrist.

"Teach me Ratonhnhake:ton."

"No." He pulled his wrists out of her reach and stepped away from the bed.

"Raton-"

"I said no. You are not in the right mind to make this kind of decision. You do not know what you are asking of me. You do not know what you will need to give up-"

"I have nothing to give up! I have nothing! My life is barren! A white man forced me to lay with him and his seed grew within me. My husband he spoke lies saying I wanted to be with who I really was, to be with who my people really are. He, he was the one who left me where you found me. He forced the child within me to die. He did this to me!" She screamed, silencing any further protest from Connor. He stood unmoving, a mute witness to her further spiral into hysterical weeping.

"I will not train you to take revenge on your father's people." Connor stated when her sobbing began to ebb away from exhaustion. Connor instantly took a defensive pose when the door swung open. It was Dr. White, demanding to know what was going on.

"Connor-"

"Doctor, it is fine." Wutahshuntar sniffled, dabbing her dripping face on the blankets bunched at her lap. Dr. White stood skeptical in the doorway, until Wutahshuntar looked him in the face and repeated herself.

"I will let you rest." Connor began to follow Dr. White out of the room when she began to speak his name.

"Rest." He stated with more force. She nodded understanding that he wanted her to think about what she had asked of him. As he closed the door behind him, Dr. White was handing him a disapproving glance.

"I apologize doctor, it was not my intent to upset her. She…she asked me something and I was not as forth coming with answers as she wanted me to be." Dr. White held up his hand to stop Connor from speaking.

"She has been traumatized and your presence is not helping. Connor, I am afraid I need to ask you to not see her again." Connor began to open his mouth to protest but realized it better to say nothing. Recognizing defeat, he departed the doctor's home. He paused on the doorstep inattentively latching the door behind him. His thoughts restrained him from a rapid pace to wherever his legs were carrying him. He would not educate her in the assassin ways only to use them for her own goals. Yet, was that not what he had approached Achilles for, to seek justice for his people? No, the spirits had come to him, had told him to seek out the symbol, had told him what he needed to do. He was a tool; Wutahshuntar wanted to be the weapon. If he did allow himself to teach her, would she stray from the creed once her vengeance had been satiated; would she thirst for more blood? He killed because not only did he need to, he had to and Connor feared that she would kill because she wanted to.

"Connor…are you well?" Achilles grilled him. Connor hadn't realized he had entered the home he shared with the old man and was loitering near the front door in deep thought.

"I am sorry…Achilles." His trance broken he entered the room where the giant eagle stared him down; judging him. Do not pronounce sentence on me, he thought, I am not on trial…I am not on trial…

"What troubles you Connor?" Achilles placed the book he was reading aside and gave his full attention to the half Native. He knew something was not right by the serious tone lingering in his voice. Connor paced the few feet he had tread into the room, running the phrase about not being on trail through his head with each step he took. Each footfall pounding the idiom further into his skull. Achilles was patient, waiting for Connor to reflect upon his thoughts. He did not meet Achilles' eyes until he spoke.

"She wants me to train her." He finally stated, ceasing his strides. Achilles was first to break the staring contest and he sighed as he did, as though his next words could not support the weight of their meaning.

"And you know why she asked you." It was not a question

"I fear she seeks revenge. I cannot train one so full of vengeance." Achilles leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his thighs and studied Connor.

"Don't we do the same thing? Haven't you been doing the exact same thing?"

"I am not on trial here Achilles, her motives for wanting me to train her are." Connor snapped, knowing Achilles would bring his purpose for joining the Assassins.

"Would you rather she find someone else to train her….a Templar perhaps? This is a dangerous time for someone in her mind set. If you don't guide her, she will find someone else who will."


	7. Chapter 7

"Well what can you do?" Connor scolded when Tasha (the more easily pronounceable version of her name Diana had adopted for Wutahshuntar) had fallen out of a tree…again. Her glare was as full of heat as her fiery mane, mirroring the afternoon sun. She separated herself from the earth that had caught her and stood up to Connor. He met her intent look by crossing his arms across his chest and saying nothing. He could see from the corner of his eyes her balled fists and hear her frustrated breathing.

"I can hunt." She replied, backing down from their standoff.

"I already assumed that you can hunt, it is your skill that concerns me; especially that with a bow." He presented his back to her as he walked toward the barn outside of the manor where they been training for the past week.

Connor had agreed to train Tasha, but under his terms. Achilles had been right; she would have sought out someone else to train her, to guide her on her warpath, so Connor had consented. He felt optimistic in his desire to quell her fury…in hopes it would help alleviate his own.

He was correct in his assumption that she had not been gifted with many of the talents he had taken for granted in himself, climbing trees for one thing. She was terrible, but then again, she had not been raised with her father's people or had the years of training from Achilles. He could not blame her for what he held in abundance.

"Show me." He thrust a bow from the barn into her hands as well as several old arrows. He took several steps away from her to give her room to aim and shoot at anything. The soft swish of an arrow flying past his head and the alarmed last squeak of an animal close by actually gave him a slight shock. She glided past him and picked up the squirrel impaled by her arrow and handed it to Connor. He studied her work and nodded in approval. She was not seeking his admiration; she only killed because he wanted proof she could. He wanted to see if she would kill.

"Are you happy? Are you pleased Ratonhnhake:ton? That I could so quickly and easily take a life? Is that what you wanted proof of?"

"No. I only wanted to see if you could aim and shoot. You did not need to take a life…meaninglessly. That is something you must learn." Her ends must justify her means. He threw the dead animal to the ground, the arrow still protruding from its body. He walked past her as she stood staring at the creature she had killed and then at his back as he strode farther away. She watched him disappear into the woods past the road that lead up to the manor. A few more blinks of her eyes and he was completely gone. As the panic of being left behind crept into her body, she rushed into the dirt road and into the thickets lining the path. Almost instantly she was grabbed and the air forced out of her lungs by the momentum of her back throw up against a tree. She lashed out with the only weapons she still had, her arms and legs, knowing, remembering how it felt to be seized against one's will.

"Relax…relax…Tasha stop…" Connor was fending off her attacks, blocking her adrenalin- fueled, fear induced flailing. Her limbs slowed their thrashing, but her breathing was still trailing far behind. He continued to pin her against the tree until the frenzied panic in her eyes began to dim. He released her when the anger vanished and a terror from the past began to trace lines on her face.

"Are you unharmed?" She held up her hand as though to fend him off as she placed a distance between them. She leaned forward as though preparing to vomit and then she did, emptying her stomach, splattering the leaf-covered ground. Wiping her mouth on her arm, the earth hissed beneath her feet as she staggered away from him. She watched him, but he made no move toward her, she was like a frightened animal that would flee if he made any sudden movements. Only when she stumbled on a rock did he rush forward to break her fall. She raised her fists to beat him away from her, but stopped, her knuckles turning white and her arms shaking with the strain of her mind versus her senses.

"Are you unharmed?" He reiterated, slowing his words to reach the bubble of anxiety she was encased within. Her wide eyes spoke more than any sound that might have come from her mouth. He assisted her in reacquiring her footing and as he backed away from her, the slap he received in return did surprise him. When he searched her face for an answer, her eyes were pools on her face, brimming with water that was ready to spill. He was able to stop the subsequent blow, gripping her tiny wrist in his fist. Her arm shook from the tension of her unsuccessful attempt. Her felt her tears spray his arm as she wrestled to free herself from his grasp. With his other hand he reached for her shoulder to try and calm her and cease her thrashing.

"Stop, I did not mean…" He was not sure what he didn't mean. He wanted to tell her that she needed to be prepared for the unexpected, that his intent was not to upset her but train her. She was damaged much more than he realized. He released her when she collapsed to her knees, her labored breath giving her loose wisps of hair the ability to fly. She hid her face; pressing her chin to her chest. Was she ashamed of her outburst of emotion? She didn't allow him to form any more mental questions when she stood turning away from him, holding her hand to her mouth as though she was going to vomit again or to hold back a scream. He didn't say anything as he followed her and he wasn't sure if she knew he tailed her as she meandered toward the main house, perhaps she didn't care. She stopped in the front yard and glanced around before collapsing into the grass.

"Leave me…" She whined as he knelt next to her. She covered her face with her arm and rolled onto to her side away from him.

"Are you unwell? Did I harm you? I apologize, I did not mean to –" The words overflowed from his mouth as he tried to guess what afflicted her.

"You pick at wounds, Ratonhnhake:ton…" She moaned into her elbow. She quickly sat up and giving a scream to her suffering, she tried to push him away, but she could not make him budge. The pain of his harvest, reaping her mutilated emotions, she did not want to relive these any longer. He was curious as she lay at his feet strangling her sobs.

"You cannot run or hide forever, picking at wounds makes you remember why you are fighting, why you must continue forward, why you must not cease." He gave her his reason for holding onto a grudge, he already knew hers.

"Ratonhnhake:ton…it is painful…" She whispered exposing her eyes, still ripe with tears. He raised himself to his full height and presented her with his hand.

"It will always be, but how you use that pain, how you allow it to shape you, how much of yourself you wish to loose or… gain; that is where you will find yourself." Tasha defiantly stared at his outstretched hand. He was not taking advantage of her as she lounged in her misery, he was offering his hand. Connor sought a connection with her; a starting point on which to further the fledging relationship; perhaps a friendship and not a partnership. Was grief, sorrow an ample building tool? She was like a weed; wild and uncontrolled. He needed to cultivate her so that she would not demolish the fragile balance he had nurtured of justice and revenge.

No, she did not want to rely on another man. He had seen enough of her emotions for one day, he would not see her helpless as well. She shoved herself up and ignored his offer of assistance as she stomped away from him. She had seen the truth on his face; the harshness that stopped at his eyes. Tasha was not ready to give him access to all of her inner turmoil although she had seen it reflected in those eyes of his. It frightened her that this man could know about a pain she wanted to bury along with the lives circumstance had compelled her to leave behind. He wanted to exhume her mangled emotions and reassemble her into something stronger. Can one rebuild from a rotting carcass?

"What's the rush?" A voice caked with age caused her to pause. She turned cautiously in the direction of the speaker and her surroundings went from a blur to a harsh focus. She was standing in the shadow of the home Connor and his mentor, Achilles resided. A breeze rose from the ocean that the house vigilantly overlooked and wiggled stray hairs into her eyes as she stood her guard flaring near this man. She felt secluded in his presence as though he had grabbed her, heels dragging, into a sewage coated alley to interrogate her. The grass whispered against her dress and shoes as she warily took a step away from him. She felt as though he could see through her more than Connor ever could. Whereas Connor saw the pain, acknowledged it and wanted to guide her into using it as fuel for her fire, Achilles he saw something beyond any potential, he saw a murderer guilty before they even committed a crime. He knew she needed to be leashed, muzzled, and properly trained.

When she didn't answer he smiled to himself and hobbled toward her. He stopped a few feet away from her, knowing that she was like a startled animal and would flee if he came closer. He leaned on his cane with both hands and gazed at her from his hunched posture.

"Connor didn't want to train you, but I have experience with those who want guidance and the teacher who is reluctant to…impart. Do not be so hasty to learn, think why you want this child. There are too many effected when the innocent die. "

"I would not kill the innocent." She stated, confident.

"You would dig graves that are not meant to be dug. A guilt in your eyes may not be one in the grand picture. Revenge might be the solution, but killing might not be the answer, there are other ways to locate what you seek." Achilles replied, a warning loitering in his words.

"Ratonhnhake:ton…he-" Achilles interrupted her before she could finish her thought and sentence.

"He still teeters on the brink of where you now stand, but lucky for him his personal goals and those of the Brotherhood are aligned. If you do wish to continue down your path-"

"Does my path not mirror another Assassin, from the past? He wanted revenge as well." Tasha retorted remembering brief snippets of her history lesson Connor had lectured to her.

"He did and he got it, but he didn't choose to be an Assassin, it was thrust upon him and he learned later that it was something that fit him quite well. You want this solely for your own justice, I warned Connor of this as well once, if you go down this path you will be the one who gets killed, girl." He emphasized the last word to remind her of who she was speaking with and her place. She did not enjoy feeling so disarmed and exposed in front of this man, because he was right. Vulnerable to more of his verbal lashing, Tasha turned to go after acquiescing to his advice and almost collided with Connor. In her haste to flee from the truth, she had not seen or heard him approach. She could not bear to meet his eyes; she knew she would see herself reflected in them. His deerskin swathed legs was all she saw as she retreated to the basement training room, pacified and humbled.


	8. Chapter 8

Various bruises, pulled and torn muscles and battered emotions later, Tasha had begun to show some true promise in Connor's eyes. He did not permit her to yet kill, but he had allowed her to shadow him on less hazardous missions. She studied from a safe distance, blending, bribing, observing, eavesdropping. He mentioned possibly changing her outer appearance to blend easier, stating a fellow assassin from the south did just that and it worked for her all the time.

She learned to listen to him, to harness her anger; to wield it as a blade instead of buck shot. She hovered at the precipice of wanting to scream to him that she was ready and waiting for him to tell her she was ready. Her impatience was her opponent more than the people Connor was interrogating. Her intolerance of the slow passage of time was a predominant annoyance as she loitered behind some crates in a dark alley waiting for Connor. The giddy drunk laughter of a man and several women echoed off the narrow alley walls as well as their stumbling scuffling. The troupe faded back into the darkness from where they spawned as another sound picked up where theirs left off; Connor. His barely audible steps paused near where she hid and then the scraping of his ascent up the building told her that she was to follow him. He waited patiently for her and then took a crouching position when she joined him on the rooftop. He reviewed the exchanges made in the night, quizzing her on observations and relaying what he had learned. He shared the names of his fellow assassins and what they had gleaned from their own sources. When he was done imparting the information, he stood and instantly clutched his arm. He was wounded.

"Ratonhnhake:ton!" She hissed into the darkness as she reached for him. Panic seized her and impulse forced her to act. He was faster, as though he expected her reaction, and stopped her from assisting him. He held up was arm to keep her at a distance, the same she had done to him.

"Not here, it is not safe." She could hear the strangled pain in his voice that he had fought to control. How had she not heard it before? She had been listening to his words, not his voice. He took her silence as understanding and scaled down the roof toward where she could smell horses. She studied his movements from the corner of her eyes as they mounted and rode off toward the homestead. He did not appear to have trouble riding, but her opinion changed when the surroundings became familiar. He eased his horse into a slow steady saunter and seized his arm as he bent double in pain. She was at his side immediately and snatched the reins from him. She led their mounts to the manor and was met with more resistance when she reached to him. She could feel his intense glare in the settling night as he hefted himself from the animal and walked to the home, cradling his injured limb. He left her to unsaddle and bed the horses before she abandoned her assassin visage and ran into the house like a child expecting a gift. Upon closing the front door behind her, she could hear Connor and Achilles' voices filtering down from upstairs. Again, with her training left with the horses, she bolted up the stairs, not caring how much her feet pounded each step. Breathless and gasping she caught herself in the doorway of the room Connor and Achilles were in and stood gaping at the scene in front of her. Connor was bare from the waist up sitting on the edge of a bed as Achilles hovered near his wounded shoulder. The two men did not perceive her for several moments as Connor watched his mentor examine his injury. In the brief moments before she was noticed, Tasha could not control her wondering eyes. She had not allowed men to enter her thoughts since before she had been thrown away like garbage from her father's tribe. The opposite sex revolted her and past experiences were to blame. Yet, seeing Ratonhnhake:ton exposed…his dark skin blending fluently with the shadows cast by the candles' distance from his body, the sudden rise of his chest as he winced against the prodding Achilles applied, his muscles swelling and ebbing with each inhale and exhale, the silhouette of his profile as he scrutinized Achilles…sensing her presence, Connor snapped his head in her direction, his eyes boring holes into her own. Tasha quickly averted her stare and apologized, thankful for the dimly lit room to obscure her flushed face.

"Don't just stand there, make yourself useful and fetch Connor some water." Achilles reprimanded, sending Tasha off in a flurry of embarrassment.

"You should not talk to her with that tone." Connor replied when he was sure Tasha would not hear him defending her. Achilles sat back on the bed and sighed.

"She lacks discipline." He replied, not elaborating any further because of the ruckus Tasha was causing as she returned with a glass of water. She held the dripping glass out to Connor, keeping her head bent allowing her hood to shield her face. She felt her recipient remove the glass but when she turned to go, her arm was grabbed.

"Thank you." Connor whispered and then released her. She escaped the tension in the room and sought the solitude of the basement training area. Like Ratonhnhake:ton, she released her anger on the mannequin. She was furious at herself more than anyone else, allowing Achilles to treat her like some stray animal Connor had rescued. She knew she had to respect him, no she needed to; he was a mentor. Yet he held little revere for her, how could she hold any regard for someone who gave her none. Perhaps she did not deserve it…

"Tasha…" She had not heard the man's approach, so consumed was she with her own thoughts.

"Mentor…" She backed away from the training dummy and watched as he hobbled toward her.

"Achilles is fine, even Connor doesn't call me that." He chuckled lightly to himself at the formality.

"What did I do to you that you treat me so harshly?" She knew her voice was shaking, this was a confrontation she did not want to face. She had lost their first verbal battle and was not ready for another.

"Harshly? What do you think this life owes you? I don't sugar coat my words, girl. I spoke the truth-"

"I lost my child! I was beaten and forced to wander the land until I collapsed from too much of my life soaking into the Earth! My people have forsaken me! That is the truth." Tasha screamed, tired of being corned by this man and his assumptions.

"Do not preach to me about lost children or being forsaken. The two graves outside; that is my son and wife taken from me by the slow fever. Wait until you have almost a lifetime to stew in misery and then you can lecture me. The Templars, those you have sworn to fight, threatened me if I did not cease being an assassin. I was powerless and in the end I lost those I loved anyway. I speak the way I do to warn you, to make you open your eyes. Becoming an assassin isn't just about getting revenge and killing, it is a brotherhood you commit to, a cause you must believe in and a way of life you cannot stray from." He snapped his cane on the floor to emphasize his point.

"You think because we share a common pain that we are the same? That our loss binds us-" He was suddenly right in front of her, forcing her to cease her ranting and to endure his rheumy glower.

"No not bind us, give us an appreciation for how fragile life is. We have known the cost of loss and while we must take lives to protect others, we always remember that there is a greater good at play. You harbor so much anger, I will not stand by and let you slaughter unnecessarily. You will learn to focus it better or you will leave." He hobbled away from her, terminating the conversation. She was furious; she was a victim yet being treated like a criminal. The adrenaline encouraged her enraged march and she found herself fighting to capture her breath in the doorway of Ratonhnhake:ton's room. Her eyes darted manically around the candle lit room before falling upon the only other occupant there. Her enraged breathing was thunderous, even after drawing the attention of the weary Connor, cradling his arm as he heaved himself to a sitting position.

"Has something happened?" She could not see the fatigued circles under his eyes or hear the lingering heavy breathing of sleep, but his voice was burdened with exhaustion. The way he paused, as though he had to remember to speak English to her and how his words were scratchy with a disturbed and painful slumber.

"I have been orphaned by indifference and I have failed, you and more importantly myself." She was appreciative for the single candle and the weak light it cast to hide her shame.

"Why do you speak this way?" She peeked at his form on the bed, afraid to explain herself. He lived with Achilles and had been trained by him. She could not force him to ally with her, but she could help him to understand.

"Achilles…he wounded me with his words and I can only assume I feel so much pain because he was speaking the truth. I am a child stumbling in the darkness, not seeing my words or actions and how they affect others. I despise that I was brought here, dumped here to fend for myself; thrown away like a useless tool." She could taste the tears but she refused to cry. Although he might never know how deeply his statements sliced her healing scars, she would not permit anyone to see her weaknesses incarnate.

"You have not failed me and you are not useless. You are still learning and trying. You only fail when you give in or give up. Perhaps the spirits guided you here in their own way." Connor spoke truthfully. He was confused as to why she was upset, since the emotions of women still eluded him. He knew Achilles could be rough, but that was just his way… toward Connor but not toward the women of the homestead. Yet, Tasha was not from the homestead and she was training to become an assassin, Connor's sleep drunk thoughts brought him to that realization.

"He holds you to a higher standard, do not let his words trouble you so much. I will speak to him."

"He will not listen! You cannot fight my battles for me Ratonhnhake:ton. I must sit with the demons I know I can battle myself, and I will not win no matter who is at my side when it involves Achilles." She stepped toward him in aggravation; at how powerless she felt to allow Achilles to stomp all over her and that Connor's actions were too passive for her liking.

"There should be no fighting…" He stopped himself, remembering the verbal sparring matches he and Achilles had competed in before. He wanted to explain to her that this was just how Achilles was, but he felt exhaustion looming upon him the longer he lounged on the bed. He did not have the strength to parry her words or use his own as fodder for her fire.

"Ratonhnhake:ton…" Her voice had softened and she approached him, perceiving his fatigue in the dusky room. She eased herself next to him and lightly touched his bare back. His skin was warm and she rested her hand there feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. As she pressed her palm against him, he sat still and continued to support his arm so as to not jostle his shoulder. And suddenly as though he had been in a haze of slumber and just then woke, he turned toward her slightly and glared at her. His gaze melted her like the candle dripping nearby and after leaving her to shrink from his blaze; he proceeded to raze her arm even after she snapped it away from his back.

"I am sorry." She whispered, her emotions smoldering from his fierce glare.

"Do not apologize and do not coddle." He was shoving her away as well. Her suffering meant nothing to him. She thought…she thought he might understand but he was as hardened as Achilles and filled with the same amount of disgust. Tasha had bared her scars, her battle wounds, and they did not care. It was as though they told her, well we've had a bad life too, why should you have it easy with people who might care; tough it out like us. She could not do that; she was among two men who had lost as much as her and possibly even more and seemed comfortable with turning their backs on her. As the tears became to blur her vision, she quickly stood and began to run for the door when Ratonhnhake:ton grabbed her elbow with his good arm.

"I have upset you…I meant that _I _do not need to be coddled." He stated, understanding her charge for the door. He did not intend to upset her, but he realized quickly that he had. She was fragile, in mind and spirit, he saw that now. She had been trying to reach out to him, not just for advice but comfort. The gentle touch she had given him, raised the wall he had built securely around himself. She was not making contact with him in order to bond together some false sense of brotherhood or trust; she was similar to a raw, open wound; painful and in need of a bandage to ease to anguish. Tasha wrestled with his grip, desperately wanting to hide her tears, but he would not let go. She relaxed and gradually lowered herself to the floor. It was only then that he removed his hand from her arm, and only because she was beyond his grasp. Even in the dimness of the room he could see her curl around herself like a serpent and quiver as she sobbed. Dumbfounded, Connor did nothing but watch her, but when she began to wail he knelt next to her and lifted her into his arms, ignoring the screaming pain of his shoulder. This time, she did not fight against him or welcome his embrace; she was too consumed with her sobbing. He leaned onto the bed, her weight was pressure his shoulder did not approve of, and tried not to dump her as the doorway became filled. Connor sensed someone there before they spoke and when he tried to turn on whoever it was, he could not stifle his bellowing shoulder and he grunted loudly as he fell to his knees.

"Connor!" It was Dr. White; Achilles must have called for him. The doctor pulled Connor from Tasha and quickly checked her to see if she was wounded. She heard Connor explain that she was merely upset and not wounded. As her tears began to dry, she lay upon the bed in a state of numbness. She watched the shadows of Connor and Dr. White bounce along the wall and felt the mattress shift as Connor was instructed to lie down. Their conversation was muted by the roaring deadness that invaded her body. All she had endured; it was her fuel, her reasons to continue on. She did not need to use that kindling to beat her pain into submission or even death, but to use it the feed the fire of her motivation. She saw the pain unharnessed for a brief moment in Achilles and it lingered under the surface of everything Connor did, every word, every movement. It not need be tamed or cowed, but leashed and only unmuzzled when her blade found its resting place. Her epiphany gave her a release and allowed her to drift into sleep.

"Are you sure she is well Connor?" Dr. White asked as he probed his injury and glanced at Tasha. She had wrapped herself into the fetal position and by the sound of her breathing, had fallen asleep. Connor flinched at the prodding and twisted his head to peer at her; her back was to him a bundle of crude emotions and the basic instinct to kill. Her defenses had been on overload like an animal caught in a trap, all she knew to do was lash out. He would need to help her release the vise and tend to her wounds.

"She will be."


	9. Chapter 9

"You have more patience for me then Achilles." Tasha laughed as she brushed dried leaves and dirt from her robes after finally succeeding in falling from a tree and rolling with the momentum.

"He used up all of his patience on me." Connor replied watching her from the corner of his eye while scanning the forest. He heard her snort in amusement as he crept to where she stood. He did not find much humor in his comment since it was the truth, but he supposed that it was mildly funny. Absently, he untangled a tiny twig from her hair, the strands wrapping around his fingers. He turned away from her and flicked the branch away and upon facing her again she was holding her hair where the stick had been resting and staring at him.

"Did I harm you?" He sounded alarmed, worried. She shook her head and stated softly that he did not injure her.

"You appear flushed…are you unwell?" He was troubled and utterly clueless that she was blushing and did not have the feverish pallor he thought she was wearing. He had raised his hand to feel her forehead but she stepped away from him and focused her attention on the ground. She was looking at the underbrush but wasn't really seeing it at all; her thoughts were revolving around the man standing dumbfounded in front of her. Why did she suddenly feel nervous…the air felt hot but it was only mid-spring…she wanted to run away and hide, from embarrassment, but she wasn't sure if embarrassment was the right feeling…

"Tasha?" His hand on her shoulder, a light reminder he was still standing next to her, not the kind of contact to jar her from her thoughts, just a tap. The action forced her to look at him; the way he tilted his head so his eyes could see her from underneath his hood. She placed her hand on top of his and gently released it from her shoulder.

"I am sorry, I was thinking." He accepted her answer without question, as though he was an innocent child, completely oblivious that people could lie; or rather people he held within his tiny circle. He then did something she did not expect;

"May I ask what you were thinking about?" She was not prepared for him to prod her lie. Tasha's mind became washed clean of thought, as though she had written her ideas on sand and did not expect the tide to sweep them away.

"My name…you call me by the colonial way, like how they renamed you." She stammered.

"Achilles gave me that name, he cannot pronounce my real name. They cannot pronounce your name either so they made it a smaller word. It is their way, to alter names either as affection or insult." She took notice of a scent of humor in his voice. She smiled, knowing that both of their names had been modified not out of anger or disgust, but friendship.

"You did not answer my question." Connor added as he crouched low and rustled softly into the underbrush. Again, he poked at the wall of lies she was building around herself as she followed him. He paused in front of her and in one fluid motion, drew his bow and released an arrow into a tree branch high in the canopy.

"Retrieve my arrow." She squinted into the sunlight as it flickered between the leaves where his arrow protruded from a thick branch. It was high, much farther than she had climbed before. She quickly backtracked the tree line to see where she could start her ascent. As her vision carried her full circle, Connor was studying her, as though to make sure she had been paying attention to what he had been teaching her over the months she had been training under him and the scrutinizing eyes of Achilles. She glanced at him and nodded before sprinting to a tree that had partially fallen onto another of its brethren. As she scaled the heights of nature, she lost sight of Connor and panicked for a brief moment before spotting him lounging in a tree not far from where his arrow was lodged. Although she could not see his face, she saw his hood pointed in her direction. Tasha resumed her scaling of the trees, the bark ribbed and thick beneath her hands, making it easy to climb. She wanted to rush, to reach the arrow quickly proving to him that she was as comfortable on the ground as in the trees, but at the same time, she knew impatience could get someone killed. She paused several times when a squirrel protested her presence, its fluffy tail whipping back and forth and again when birds tried to dance out of her way only to find themselves right in front of her again. When two braches provided a resting place, she took full advantage, thankful for the cool breeze that the heights supplied and the view. As she leaned forward slightly to peer between the leaves, it was then she remembered the lesson of distraction as her balance tilted her sideways and gravity tossed her. No scream escaped her lips as she resisted the pull of the ground and thrashed on the braches to regain her footing. Her fingers burned as she held onto the branch, the rough surface of the tree digging into her palms even through her gloves. She frantically darted her eyes around her immediate surroundings looking for another branch to swing toward or slide near. Only when a strong hand snatched her wrist and yanked her skyward did a yelp escape her mouth.

"Relax, I have you." Connor had plucked her easily from her precarious spot and held her. When her senses had recovered from his appearance, the realization that he was indeed holding her slapped her across the face. His arms encircled her and he had forced her head against his body away from looking at the ground. She was practically hyperventilating as she clung to his coat; all of her insides were shaking. He repeated for her to relax several times in calming voice; his deep tone vibrating through his chest to her ears. She concentrated on his breathing, as it slowed from the exertion of his intervention. Tasha then pried her death grip from his coat and timidly rested her hand in the center of his chest; the soft beat caressing her palm. She did not believe she could accept the embrace of a man again, but this was different. There was no expectation; only protection.

"Thank you." She whispered into the folds of his jacket. She broke the embrace and after inhaling deeply with closed eyes she continued the task he had given her. With Connor's arrow grasped firmly in her teeth, she preformed her leap of faith from the tree landing in a pile of pine tree clippings. Connor greeted her as she stepped from the mound and with an approval nod; the two began their walk back to the homestead in silence. She was quiet because her mind was in competition with her emotions. Connor had been compassionate toward her, yet cold at the same time. When it came to her training, he was more like Achilles; firm and demanding, yet when it came to her specifically he was almost warm and caring. As though she had been an injured baby bird he was nursing back to health. Was that how he saw her, a project, a mission? How did she see him? They were both two warring factions forced into one body. Yet, he had been raised with the peaceful fragment and chose to enter the invading one, she the other way around. She had not been welcome and her strong resemblance to her mother created a chasm so great that the fact that she was part of her father made little difference. Taken by a man who planted a weed inside of her; her husband, already disgusted by her mixed parentage, saw the circumstance as a way to punish her. He had beaten her and left her to wander alone until Ratonhnhake:ton had discovered her. She had been forged on homes built in quicksand filled with emotional incest.

The solid ground of the path leading to the main house, brought her back from her thoughts and as she entered the home following Ratonhnhake:ton; the soft glow of candles outlined Achilles behind the large desk of where the accounting ledger sat.

"What did you learn today?" The old man asked, looking up from his books to appraise her.

"Focus." Tasha stated as Connor took up a position in the doorway. It was almost as though he was presenting her to his mentor, but was not expecting any judgment or approval. She felt the trickle of sweat sit at the precipice of her neck and then spill down her back. Achilles made her nervous now, she had something to prove to him and she did not want to fail.

"Oh?" Achilles seemed intrigued by her response. The chair scraped against the floor in protest of the age-weighted arms of Achilles; he no longer had the strength of youth to propel the chair back to rise from being seated.

"How so?" He prodded, waddling toward her.

"Distraction is the enemy of focus." She watched his head nod in understanding and...praise. She had been hoping he would not ask her to elaborate, but her answer satisfied him. He excused himself to his room across the hall. She continued to stand on display until Connor spoke,

"You should rest, tomorrow will be full." She remained standing, listening for Connor's retreat. She felt so drained, she did not want anyone to see her weakness. She craved a bed and desired nothing but to collapse in private. When she heard nothing she peered over her shoulder to see him hovering like a ghost near the stairs. His white coat illuminated in the semi-darkness. He appeared headless, his hood pushed away from his face. He had startled her and she recoiled into the desk. Her already physically and emotionally exhausted body could not sustain her balance and she tumbled to the floor.

"I am fine." Her fatigue a short fuse, she practically yelled at him as he tried to assist her in standing.

"You are not, you will allow me to help you." There was an edge to his voice as he gathered her from the floor into his arms. His tone stilled her and she allowed herself to be carried upstairs. Achilles had permitted Connor to turn one of the extra rooms into a space for Tasha, where he now bore her. Already feeling sleep seize her, she barely felt Connor lay her on the bed. The gently tugging of her legs woke her slightly as she watched Connor pull off her boots. He seated himself directly next to her and felt her forehead and cheek. She lifted her hand to stop his mild exam, which he grabbed and tucked under his bent knee. He then began to loosen her collar and the bindings on her arms, hiding the blades concealed there. He stripped her of the weapons and reached next for the dagger camouflaged in her belt and then reached underneath her to unclasp the belt entirely. The air flooded into her lungs as he released her from the prison of the restraint. She had not realized how the belt had been like a tourniquet or how tired she really was. Slumber dragged her down as though she was drowning and she hardly felt as Connor began to check her for injuries. Tasha growled softy in disapproval, towing her free hand from the bed to shove his hands from her side. He used her own weight against her, pinning her hand under her back. It was then her sleep-addled mind registered that he wasn't only checking her for wounds but rubbing the feeling back into her body. His hands were like a lullaby, but at the same time old memories flared. Her sleep-drunk mind remembered hands that had started tender but became unkind and punishing. Ratonhnhake:ton did not have those hands, but the memories remained. She did not realize she was crying until the pillow felt wet against her face. She suddenly broke the bonds of sleep and flung herself into Connor's surprised arms. She recalled how it felt when he held her earlier that day and the safety he projected. The embrace felt like an invasion as first, but Connor began to relax when he sensed how she was holding him and he remembered his mother. He had made sure to engrave into his mind what he could of her and this closeness felt like her; the sweet aroma of memories awakened a sadness and an anger. He wanted to push her away, but he couldn't. She had suffered so much and she needed something to cling to, something to help pull her from the darkness she had seen. While his past had been ravaged, he had still had a people and a home; she had nothing. Connor wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down onto the bed next to him, falling asleep with her in his embrace.


	10. Chapter 10

Tasha woke the next morning to an empty bed. She pressed her hand into the depression next to her and could feel a faint warmth radiating there. So she had not imagined it, he had slept next to her. When the door inched open slowly, she quickly sat up and made sure she looked presentable. Ratonhnhake:ton, seeing she was awake, pushed the door open completely and entered the room.

"We start early today." She nodded to his back and hastily dressed and equipped herself before following him downstairs. The kitchen smelled of a welcoming to the new day and she packed a bag full of fruits, dried meat, and fresh biscuits. Connor handed her the reins of one of the horses when she met him outside and followed him down the beaten path and then off into the woods. He twisted in the saddle and pointed to a spot to tether the horses and began to walk the remainder of the way. A rock wall pocked with handholds and crevices loomed before them and she knew what he would be instructing her on today. As he approached the wall she spoke his name, causing him to pause and look at her. His face softened when he met her eyes. She drew near him, taking her time, almost dreading what needed to be addressed. They had shared a bed and he had reciprocated when she had embraced him. She slowly raised a hand and placed it against his cheek. She felt his jaw tense under her palm as he quickly averted his eyes and backed away from her. Connor touched his fingertips to where she had rested her hand on his face and gave her a confused gaze.

"Raton-"

"Why did you touch me?" He interrupted her, his tone full of confusion. He was still holding his fingers to his cheek as though the area was sore, as though she had slapped him.

"I…I do not know…it…felt right."

"Is that what women do?" The statement shocked her as did the pure innocence of his tone. He had no idea…what women do.

"Yes…I believe so." She wasn't sure how to answer him. Tasha searched her memory for the man she had been with before and discovered that any and all such advances had simply just happened. She watched as his hand slipped from his face and he glanced away from her and then back again as though he needed those few moments to gather his thoughts.

"What should I do?" The conversation was becoming awkward and she was regretting reaching out to him.

"You do not need to do anything if you do not want to." Tasha turned her back on him, but before she could spin completely around he had taken a firm grip of her elbow.

"And if I want to?" He walked around to face her, his hand still holding her arm as though he feared she might run away. Upon facing her she met his eyes and watched from her peripheral vision his other hand hesitantly reach to her face and connect to her. His palm cupped her cheek as his fingers threaded into her hair and rested around her ear. She could feel the roughness at the tip of his fingers and the supple leather of his glove. He released her arm as she leaned into his touch. She tilted her head harder into his palm causing his fingers to brush against her neck and as his thumb tiptoed over her lips. She parted them and exhaled lightly onto his finger. He slid his hand to the back of her neck and paused. Giving him not time to react, Tasha copied him but instead of halting her hand at his neck she pulled him toward her and pressed her lips against his. She felt and heard the shocked intake of breath through his nose and then the pressure of his hand against her neck as he crushed his mouth harder against her own. His free arm wound around her waist and eased her body against his and then without any warning he yanked himself free of her and withdrew several steps. She could hear his exerted breath and he would not meet her eyes. It had felt…good but Connor did not like how he felt powerless. His body had taken over without his permission. The crunch of underbrush alerted him to Tasha's approach. It was only then that he linked eyes with her again. Her expression was not one of anger but one of understanding; she knew he had never been with a woman, his reactions were clear.

"It is alright, Ratonhnhake:ton." She said softy, taking his hand. She wanted this and she knew as a man, he would want this. The monster that had sown a weed into her, was a beast of the past. Ratonhnhake:ton was not that man; he was a superior person she had learned that. He had suffered as she had suffered and he had helped her with no questions and without asking anything in return.

He said nothing as she tugged on his hand, wanting to lead him farther from civilization. He followed her feeling outside of himself. He was a killer; an assassin yet this woman had disarmed him faster than he ever had an opponent. The downward tow of her hand drew his attention. She had paused and was sitting in a small pool of shadows created by a cluster of young birch trees. Adjusting her robes and clearing branches and rocks from the space, she lifted her face to him and smiled.

"Will you sit with me?" He immediately acquiesced feeling like a child wanted to please his mentor. He sat cross legged next to her and surveyed the surroundings on instinct. The forest was quiet of what did not belong and was at peace with itself. A breeze caressed the leaf-laden trees, dappling the forest floor with splashes of sunlight while birds sang overhead. A river could be heard talking to itself not too far off as a raccoon stopped briefly near a deer to eavesdrop on the conversation. Hearing nature required no thought, no pressure; it was kin to breathing. Yet sitting next to this woman required every bit of concentration Connor had to not bolt like a startled deer. When she touched his shoulder he nearly leapt. She reached for the buckle near his chest and loosened it releasing his quiver. He swung his bow over his head anticipating her. Connor watched in a curious fascination as she continued to defuse him until he was liberated of all his weapons. Tasha had begun to remove her own, when he seized her hand to stop her. He proceeded to relieve her of her own armaments placing them off to the side with his own in a nest of leaves. She wore a shy expression when he turned back to her as though she was cautious to continue. She felt odd initiating and Connor felt just as strange with his lack of experience. So he did what felt right and reclined onto his back. He tugged at the arm Tasha was using to support herself and she tumbled onto him. Her weight relaxed him and he held her before releasing her. The rustling and crunching of the underbrush met Connor's ears as Tasha settled next to him. For a time they lay in silence listening to the peaceful world around them until Tasha inched her hand into his. He rotated his face to glance at her but her attention was focused on the canopy above. He turned his entire body to hers and lifted his other hand to her face, rolling it slowly to be parallel with his. Again, she smiled before their lips embraced. Tasha slipped her hand out of his and wove her fingers into his hairline at his neck and using his own weight as an anchor, pulled herself into his lap. She could feel the hunger as his lips pleaded with hers. From his neck, her fingers traced his necklace and picked at the first button of his shirt. In between kisses, she glanced down to watch as she unwrapped his chest. With the last button unfastened, she unlocked his torso and timidly reached for his bare skin. He inhaled deeply coercing her palms to graze his heated flesh. Her fingers snacked softly along the ridges of his muscles until they rested against his nipples. He yanked his lips free of hers and arched his neck back before molesting the soft skin of her neck. Yet, all she felt was his mouth. Tasha reluctantly slithered her hands off of Connor and pushed him onto his back. She straddled him and lifted his empty hands to her waist. From there she guided him to her breasts and then knots holding her robes in place. She ran her hands up and down his arms, impatient. He lingered at the knots rubbing the fabric between his finger tips. To encourage him, Tasha pushed her hands against his exposed waist and slid them up his sides massaging as she worked her way back to his chest. His heart was pounding and his heavy breathing was causing his whole torso to expand. Almost on reflex, he yanked the ties and her robes fluttered from her body like leaves cascading on the wind. Tasha grabbed his hands and used them to cup her chest. His touch was tender and…curious. She studied his reaction, his exploration of her body. At first, he did nothing but embrace her breasts; he held them like he was afraid they would break. She peeled each hand from her and stripped his gloves off; slowly. With his hands free, he reached unhurriedly for her, unburdened by her assistance. Connor's hands glided over her breasts, sketching each rolling curve into his memory. He supported them, moving along with each breath she took. He then pressed his hands underneath each breast and felt his way in between them, her heart beat tingling his finger tips. His feathery touch was tiny lightning strikes upon her skin, the current bending her backwards and stealing her breath. Connor mapped out her spine with one hand while continuing his discovery of chest with the other. He pulled himself to a sitting position and pressed her flesh against his while kneading his lips into her neck and shoulder. She tugged at his coat and shirt, desiring access to his body as well. In her haste to disrobe him, his clothing became a tangled lump of turned out sleeves. Tasha ran her fingers nimbly over his exposed back feeling each tense and release of his muscles. She also felt the hardness beneath her and began to give him more encouragement. She snaked one her hands down the back of his pants after loosening his trousers and licked her way from his mouth to his ear and began to bite gently. She could feel the rapid pumping of his heart against her chest and she knew from the closeness he could feel hers. She felt the growing hardness underneath her and as she moved to meet his lips again he eased her onto to her back and loomed over her. His eyes roamed over her, making Tasha suddenly felt like a snared animal. He leaned over her breasts and she could feel his warm breath against her skin giving her the shivers. Connor was overcome with the strong instinct to…despoil her. He had never felt these feelings, had not allowed himself to. There had never been time for…any such dalliance. This woman, Tasha, had made the time for him, and now he did not know what to do. Sensing his lack of direction, she rubbed her fingers through his hair and gently pushed his head down until she felt their skin connect. His lips tiptoed over her breasts and around her nipples and then sauntered up between her breasts to her neck and finally to her mouth. Her body became to open for him, as though he had unlocked her and was uncovering what treasures she held. His hands found the gentle bend of her waist and he followed the twists and bends over her abdomen, under the small of her back, and the rise and fall of her buttocks. She shimmed her body to slip the rest of her clothing off and reached for his bulging trousers. Tasha gave him a shove to indicate he needed to lie down so she could relieve the pressure. Connor complied, watching her as she stripped him bare. There he was, ready for her. She knelt next to his waist and began her exam. She stroked him, hearing him suck in breath through his teeth, but she did not want to torment him so she straddled him again and taking a firm but gentle hold of his manhood, guided him inside of her. As her body expanded to fit him, he groaned deep in his chest while Tasha gasped and dug her fingertips into his waist. She slowly pushed herself up and then down again, carefully creating a warm friction against him. Connor molded his hands to her waist to help her rise and fall onto him as Tasha pushed her palms to his chest. She felt his nipples harden into her palms as he coddled her swelling breasts. The ebb and flow of their connection lasted until she felt Connor expel within her and she finished not long afterward. She slid off of Connor and he collected her into his arms. Sprawled across his reclined body, she listened as his breathing and heart rate slowed and relaxed. She rubbed a hand up and down his side feeling his ribs expand with each inhale and the folds of each muscle. One of his hands rested against the soft rise of her buttocks, anchoring her against him while the other caressed the side of one of her breasts that was ballooning from her weight against him.

"Ratonhnhake:ton…" She whispered, craning her neck toward his ear. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand as he bent his head to meet her eyes. She said nothing else, she only wanted to speak his name and look at her. He sat up, still holding her against him and began running his free hand through her hair.

"My mother wore her hair like yours." She smiled and shyly bowed her face away from him. A crunching of twigs and a jingle of reins proved that one of the horses was tired of waiting for them. The animal disturbed their repose by nuzzling their mound of hastily tossed clothing as it wandered into their small bubble of paradise.

"We should continue with what we came here for, a lesson in climbing." Connor steered the horse a few feet away and tethered it more firmly to a tree. He dressed with little ceremony as did Tasha. When she had finished she looked to him to lead the way and his hand was inches from her face. Tasha stepped into his palm and held it against her cheek.

"Achilles will ask what I learned today." She stated a smile in her tone as her grip tightened on his hand. Connor dropped his hand and extended his arm for her to walk toward the rock wall in front of him.

. . .

"No." Achilles stated again. He hobbled away from Tasha to where Connor stood in the basement. She had learned to not question the elder man, but this was different.

"Achilles, I mean no disrespect-" Tasha began until Connor interrupted her.

"Achilles said no. You cannot come with me to New York. I have assassins there to assist me." He had been leaning on the wall, and stood to emphasize his stance on the matter. She backed down and nodded, accepting their decision. Achilles glanced at the two of them and limped back upstairs.

"Ratonhnhake:ton, you can use my support. New York has become more hostile." He was quick to turn on her.

"No." He was angry and did not want to discuss the subject with her any further. He had begun to follow Achilles upstairs when she reached for his arm and grabbed him.

"Did you not hear me?" His voice was rising.

"Then tell me why." She hissed back.

"You still lack experience and this mission is too dangerous for you to gain any. I will not have your blood on my hands." Connor's voice softened with the last words he spoke. He did not want her to go because he could not keep a clear mind with her around. He knew he would worry about her the entire time and remain unfocused during the mission he needed to carry out.

"You cannot protect me forever. I am not your mother." Connor was in her face instantly, the front of her robes balled in his fist, the tips of her boots barely touching the floor.

"You are not permitted to speak of her in that way. Do so again and I will put you back where I found you." He propelled her into the wall, nearly knocking her off her feet. She stood there…she did not know how long; holding her clothing where Connor had so violently seized and then thrown her. She had crossed a line with him, leaving her dirty boot prints all over something he held dear. The front door closing woke her and she skipped up the stairs to find…no one.

"He left." Achilles hobbled toward her turned back. She knew he had left, but she was not going to stand there and argue as to why he would not or could not allow her to shadow him.

"If something should happen to him, you will still be here, still be an assassin." Achilles' voice was not the usual callous ring.

"What are you saying? What is he to do in New York?" She spoke over her shoulder with the first question and more alarmed with the second causing her to face the old man.

"Don't jump to conclusions girl. Everyone mission has its risks and the ones on this mission are ones you are not ready to face. A few months of training doesn't make you an assassin, Connor knows that, I know that and you need to understand that." He wasn't scolding her, but explaining. Connor wasn't worried about her, he knew she wasn't ready and did not want her around for the sake of safety.

"I apologize." She felt stupid thinking he did not want her to go because he cared for her and did not want to see her injured. She began to walk to the room she had been staying in to go over the mounds of books Achilles had given her to study.

"He also does not want to see someone he cares about get hurt, again." Achilles said causing her to pause on the steps. She leaned over the banister to meet his eyes. He actually had a smirk on his face! She nodded and continued walking up stairs, a smile broadening with each step she took.

. . .

"Tasha, Tasha, wake up girl!" The urgency in the voice flung her from sleep. The knife she kept under her pillow was in her hand before she had fully opened her eyes. When she saw the face of the person holding the candle, she calmed down. It was Achilles, she had fallen asleep reading and the single light in the room was swathed in the deep veil of night.

"We need to go…Connor is at Dr. White's, he's injured." Diana stood at the foot of the stairs and seeing Tasha she quickly turned around and with skirt in hand, ran out the open front door. Achilles encouraged her to move faster as her shock glued her feet to the floor. She was outside now, on a horse that was simply following the one in front of her, the dim shape looked like Achilles. As they arrived at Dr. White's the windows were emitting a soft glow and a lone horse was gorging itself on the small garden the doctor had been cultivating. As she collected the reins of her animal she reached for the other horse…it was Connor's. The open door filled with shadows and one of them spoke her name.

"Tasha, come inside." It was Achilles, who also closed the door behind her when she entered the home. It had been awhile since she had been here. The same foreign odor hung in the air, but the groaning was an unfamiliar sound. A door opened and the moaning grew louder.

"Ratonhnhake:ton…" Dr. White took a hold of her as she tried to bolt to the room she knew he was in.

"Calm down, calm down, he's going to be fine." He led her away from the room and brought her and Achilles into a small kitchen.

"There is some extremely heavy bruising along the right side of his ribcage, but no broken bones. He rode to the front of the house and collapsed off of his horse. He's lucky I heard his horse or I would not have found him until daylight."

"May I see him?" Tasha whispered, her fear for him snatching her voice. Dr. White nodded and guided her to the room Connor was in. She was sweating and shaking and it was difficult to swallow as she crept toward the bed Diana was hovering over. The other woman glanced at Tasha and handed her a damp cloth while steering her to the side of the bed.

"He's asked for you a few times." Her voice was hushed or it seemed that way over the painfully growling coming from the bead. Connor was shirtless, and even in the dim room she could see the blackened patches covering his right side. She touched his clammy fist which was gripping the sheets so hard she could feel it quivering. She took the cloth Diana had pressed into her hand and began to tap it gently across his forehead. She could feel his brow wrinkling and his head turning in her direction.

"I am here Ratonhnhake:ton…I am here."

To be continued


End file.
